


What Lies Beneath

by pixie_rings



Series: Shallura Week 2016 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Eldritch Abomination, F/M, Pining, Shallura Week 2016, Stranded, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7890184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro and Allura are stranded on a deserted ocean planet after the Black Lion crashes. The most they can do is wait for rescue, but something lurks, and it's not just feelings they have yet to act upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for Shallura Week. We'll see whether the others live up to this one.
> 
> 28th August - Recovery

When Shiro wakes up, everything is blurry. His head is pounding, his whole body throbbing, the only solid sensation that connects him to reality is his back against metal. He attempts to move, but that just sends a lightning bolt of agony all throughout every nerve in his body. He lets out a deep shout of pain, squeezing his eyes shut. His torso feels as if it's on fire.

“Shiro! Don't move!”

A delicate hand is on his chest, just heavy enough to be felt, and he focuses on it, on the palm and the fingers, and breathes heavily through his nose. It feels like forever before the pain subsides to a thud that goes in time with his heartbeat, but at least then he can crack his eyes open and meet Allura's worried gaze.

“You're injured,” she murmurs. “Don't move.”

Now he can finally notice where he is in the world: on the floor, in what looks like his Lion. He remembers stars spinning like a Catherine wheel, being thrown against the side of the cockpit, Allura screaming his name, and blacking out. That's it. Before is murky, after is nothing.

“How... how long have I been out?” he asks, his voice rough from disuse.

“A day in this planet's cycle,” she replies. She settles beside him, her legs tucked under her, with a grimace, and he notices she didn't get out of the crash unscathed either. There's a bandage around her head where her tiara would be, and various plasters dotted across her skin. She's stripped off the top half of her combat suit, tying the sleeves around her waist, and the only thing she's wearing seems to be one of his spare vests he put in Black, just in case, tied under her breasts to keep it from flapping around when she moves.

She still manages to look pretty, despite the dirt and the bruises and the dried blood on her top lip that she hasn't dealt with yet. And he's not sure whether it's the pain saying that, or a concussion. Maybe both. Maybe Allura is just that _pretty_.

“What... what happened?” he rasps. Allura sighs.

“We crashed,” she says. “We got hit and we went down.”

The memories are hazy, but he vaguely recalls a diplomatic mission, easy enough for just the two of them. Galra, an ion cannon, demanding Allura strap herself in the pilot's seat as they went spinning out of control, then... nothing. Trying to remember makes his head feels like it's bursting.

“I sent out a distress signal, but other than that, the Black Lion is offline,” she continues. “I don't know this planet. We're beached on an island but all it is is... water. Just ocean.”

Shiro realises the side hatch is open. If he concentrates – and that hurts too – he can hear the gentle lapping of the waves. He sighs.

“So we're stuck here,” he muses.

“Not forever,” she replies, and there's a steely determination in her voice. He smiles. He trusts her.

* * *

He must have drifted off to sleep, because when he opens his eyes again, it's darker. This time, he doesn't even attempt to sit up.

“Hey,” he says, and he realises he's incredibly thirsty. She's at his side before he can even register it, a bottle in hand, as if she's read his mind.

It's excruciating when she props him up to help him drink, and he can't stand that guilty look on her face as she apologises over and over. He shakes his head stiffly.

“No, it's ok,” he mutters from between gritted teeth. It's really _not_ ok, he wants to just cry with the pain, but he's not a child. He can stand this. He's had worse. “Where... where'd you get the fresh water?” He distracts himself with idle questions.

“There are survival kits in all your Lions,” she says, a little too quickly, eager for the distraction herself. “Coran made sure they were restocked with brand new things as soon as we had all of them back.” As she talks, her thumb rubs his shoulder. Shiro tries both to focus on it and to ignore it, all for different reasons. “We have plenty of ration cubes. Enough to last.”

_Last until when_? he doesn't ask. He clings to her hope and cradles it to his chest, making it his own. As long as she believes, he will too.

* * *

There are painkillers in Black, but apparently not enough for Allura to use more than one a day. They help quite a lot for the hours they last, though, enough that he can prop himself up and watch her. Altean medicine doesn't fog the mind, and for that he's grateful: he's not sure what bullshit he could say and eventually regret, if he was out of it.

When the sun is still young, she leaves to search the island. She comes back wet (and he notices it, how the water makes her skin glisten, and he gets angry at himself for noticing that at a moment like this) and annoyed.

“It's completely barren,” she says irritably. “A spit of land on the tip of a rock in the middle of _nothing_. Flat sand, and we're _stuck_ on it.” She circles her knees with her arms, glaring daggers at the floor.

“What about in the sea itself?” he asks. “Any fish?”

“I haven't gone very far yet,” she admits. “We're facing a sort of sandy plateau, and behind us is just an abyss.”

Shiro swallows. All of a sudden he's very, very grateful that Black managed to crash on this tiny, T-shaped island in all this water. He imagines, before he can stop himself, the depths, how they'd be crushed by the pressure, like a beer can under someone's foot. The thought is horrifying.

Space never scared him, but he always had a strange, inexplicable fear of sinking submarines.

* * *

The days are short on this planet – it feels like barely a few hours before the sun sinks and everything becomes dark. Allura always closes the side-hatch, just in case, but the planet is silent, and cold.

It becomes claustrophobic with the hatch shut when night comes, and he finds it hard to breathe. She sleeps alongside him, not touching, but her breathing is laboured as well. The pain returns at night and it doesn't help his sleep. When he _does_ sleep, new nightmares mingle with the old ones: red alarms and pain with blood and the roar of a crowd. He wakes up screaming more than once, but she's there, she's always there.

“Shiro,” she says, firm, an anchor in the tossing storm. “Shiro, it's just a dream.”

She's strong, and stops him from flailing. She's steady, and she guides him back to reality until everything stops swimming and he can breathe again. She's the Ariadne to the Labyrinth of his mind.

“Sorry,” he croaks. Her grip loosens, she shakes her head.

“Don't be foolish,” she murmurs, warmer now, sweeter, balm to his mind's bruises. “You don't need to apologise.”

She meets the morning with him, quiet, but awake. She lets him know he isn't alone.

* * *

“You sure about this?” he asks. He's worried, and he has every right to be: they don't know what's out there.

Allura just shrugs. “I won't go far, and I won't be unarmed.” She pops her helmet on, bringing down the visor, and clips on what looks like a larger, light-studded bangle. “Electro-magnetic pulse emitter,” she supplies. “It'll annoy something as large as a doshomon and send it packing!”

Shiro has no idea what a doshomon is, so he has no idea how to react to that statement. “Just... be careful.” _I don't want to lose you_ , he doesn't say, and he ignores the ulterior motive beneath those words.

She smiles. “I'll be back, don't worry,” she says. She kneels on the edge, hesitates, looks at him. She's gone before he can even begin to fathom her expression.

It's a long, boring wait for her to come back. All he can do is stare at the ceiling, feel his painkiller run through its cycle and worry at his own mind like a dog at a chew toy. He's annoyed at himself for being injured and useless, and making Allura do all the work. He's annoyed at himself for not flying better, fighting better, getting them out and home.

He's also annoyed at how close they are, and how the parts of him he can run away from on the castleship, the parts that notice how tight her combat suit is and how pretty her eyes are, can run rampant in this enclosed space. _Don't get attached,_ he warns himself, gritting his teeth as the pain twinges on the edges of his nerves again. _Don't make this something it isn't._

When Allura finally returns, it's almost dark, and worry had been gnawing at him. He'd been about to crawl to the hatch and dive in, recklessly, when she'd pulled herself up from the sea, mermaid-like, and pulled off her helmet.

He forces himself up onto his elbow, ignoring the pain. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she replies, absently. She looks a little shaken.

“What did you find?” he asks. He reaches out his hand and allows himself to touch her arm. She leans into his touch, shuddering.

“It truly is an abyss,” she says. “I circled the island. There's a plateau that stretches out in front of us and eases out, but behind the island... it's deep, Shiro. So deep.”

He wonders how deep exactly, how far down can it possibly go? The Marianas Trench reaches six miles, Europa's oceans reach sixty. How far down does this go?

“I... I saw things,” she murmurs. She huddles in on herself, eyes wide at the memory, and Shiro is filled with a sudden, inexplicable fear.

“Things like... fish?” he asks, feeling stupid. It's obvious it wasn't fish, but he's seeking reassurance like a child would, desperately clinging to the hope it's not something so much worse.

She shakes her head. “It was immense. Like a huge... tentacle. It didn't move, but it was _alive_ , I _know_ it was alive...” She takes in a deep, shuddering breath, staying the beginnings of hysteria in her voice.

Shiro's fear turns to terror. Half-forgotten memories of Matt's Lovecraft obsession and things beyond human comprehension bubble to the surface, and he wishes they were anywhere else in the universe except here. He can deal with the Galra Empire, with Haggar, with Zarkon, but eldritch abominations aren't meant to be _dealt_ with.

It suddenly feels like they are sitting upon something that should not be disturbed.

“Was there anything else?” he says, casting around for any distraction. She takes it gratefully.

“Yes... there were fish, some crustaceans, large shells... the plateau is fine. A bit sparse, but fine.”

Shiro focuses on the things his mind can handle, for now. Allura closes the hatch, they focus almost doggedly on small talk as they eat.

Allura sleeps curled against him that night, warm against his side, shivering slightly.

* * *

“Sit up, please.”

Shiro does as he's told, wincing at what the painkiller can't dull. It's been another day, and Allura is pottering around, looking for things. She comes back with her arms laden with bandages and a tube of something purplish, and kneels beside him.

“I need to change your dressings,” she says.

“Oh, uh... ok.” He raises his arms with a grunt of pain and lets her get to work.

He'd become aware of the fact his armour and the shirt of his flight suit had been removed a while ago, and that most of his torso was wrapped in bandages. He'd also realised she had obviously had everything to do with that, and that had caused the snotty part of him that never really left adolescence to leer about it unpleasantly.

He tries not to think about what is going on as she cuts the old bandages off with a small but sharp pair of scissors. He tries not to think about her hands on him, her body close to his, the strange intimacy of it, how his body craves it even though he doesn't want it to.

He's not doing a terrible job. He looks down at his now-bare chest and sees he's just a mass of nasty purple bruises.

“Fractured ribs and internal bleeding,” she explains breezily, as if death wasn't a very real possibility.

“How am I not _dead_?” he asks, bewildered. While it's nice being alive, it's also nice to know exactly _how_ he's alive.

“This,” she says, picking up the tube of purple stuff. It glows slightly. She laughs at his suspicious look. “It's just medigel. No healing pods on the Lions, worse luck. I should ask Coran about changing that when we get back.”

“Medigel, huh?”

She nods, and practically slathers her hand with it. It doesn't smell of anything much, maybe a little like antiseptic. He raises his eyebrows, but before he can say anything, her hand heads to his chest. She freezes, centimetres away from his skin.

Her face is in flames. It matches his own. They glance at each other, their eyes meet, everything becomes a thousand times worse. There's electricity, tendrils of something that could burn hot and powerful between them if they only stoked it. For the first time, Shiro realises that this is most definitely _not_ one-sided.

They could give in, he thinks. He could ignore the pain and pull her in against him, press their lips together, and he's more than certain she'd respond. The idea of her hands on him is more thrilling than anything he's thought of for what seems like years. There's so much of her skin on display, his palms burn, his mouth is dry, his fingers twitch. Her chest moves with her breath, quicker than it should be, he catches the movement of her eyes, they go to his lips, she licks her own. They both inch forward.

His chest comes into contact with her hand, and the cold gel makes him yelp. The thread pulling them closer snaps, they both blush furiously and she quickly wipes her hand over him in a way that not even _Lance_ could misconstrue as erotic.

“I-I'll leave that for you to do!” she babbles, fumbling with bandages. “The tube's here. I'll just help with the bandages.”

“That's great, thank you, Princess!” he responds, a little too cheerfully. He also realises he has no idea what to do with the medigel. “Um...”

“Just rub it. In. Rub it in.” She turns away very pointedly, but Shiro can see her ears are still burning. He does as he's told with his left hand. It's awkward, but he can feel it seep in. It's glowing more and more as it disappears into his skin, which should be worrying, but... it's far too soothing for him to care. He sighs.

“What _is_ that stuff?” he asks.

“What we used to use before we developed the cryogenic pods,” she replies. “It's saved a few lives. Including yours.” She sounds so intensely grateful it makes Shiro's heart ache. Is that what she thinks of him? He remembers the intense, insurmountable horror and the terrifying powerlessness he felt when the last thing he saw of her was Galra trooper robots surrounding her. He never wants her to feel like that, especially not about him.

“You need to put more on,” she says, much more softly now. “And don't rub it in, it's going under the bandages.”

He does as he's told, leaving the purple, glowing mess clearly visible. “Yeah, this isn't awkward,” he mutters, grimacing as he raises his arms again. It makes her laugh as she begins to wind the bandages around him.

“It has to be done,” she says briskly. She works quickly, ties off the bandages at the front. Her hand lingers for a fraction of a heartbeat, before it's gone and she's tidying up. Her touch is branded into his skin, though, and he presses a hand to where it was, wishing he'd been brave enough to keep it there.

That night, she doesn't sleep as close to him as the night before. He misses her warmth.

* * *

It doesn't hurt as much to move as it did before, he muses the next morning. He can't turn, but he can sit up without a problem, which is something he's eternally grateful for. He can actually make it to the bathroom without her having to _carry_ him.

It also means he can actually make it to the hatch and look out onto the world they've landed in. The primordial part of his mind that governs instinctual fear doesn't let him forget whatever lies in the abyss beneath them, but ignoring that, the planet is incredibly boring, just ocean as far as the eye can see. There are no birds. He's reminded of the old America lyrics _'The ocean is a desert, with its life underground'_ , and this is exactly what he's seeing. Absently, he hums it, tapping out the guitar riff on the edge of the hatch.

“What's that?” she asks. He turns to look at her as she sits down.

“Oh, just... a song. It's pretty old.” He sighs. “I went on a roadtrip with friends once, we played it a lot. The car was so old it didn't support mp3 files, and we had to find _cassettes_. Cassettes! It was a nightmare. We only found two, so we just ended up listening to them over and over.” He chuckles. The words are etched on his brain, all the songs from both albums, but they'd listened to America more, simply because it seemed to be more fitting than Gloria Estefan did for driving through the desert on their way back to the Garrison. Also, it didn't get so annoying played on repeat.

“What's it called?” Allura asks.

“Oh, uh, _A Horse With No Name_ ,” he answers. Allura looks adorably confused, her nose scrunched up as she frowns and he wants to kiss the tip.

“What a strange song,” she says. “What is it about?”

Shiro breathes out, a bit stumped. “Just... a guy. Riding through the desert. Songs were weird in the Seventies.” He shrugs, almost apologetically. “One of the guys I was with said it was about drugs, but I don't think so.”

“Could you sing it?”

He blinks. He can't remember the last time he sang. “Uh... sure.”

It's a little embarrassing, to be watched so intently while singing, but he does his best. He stumbles over the lyrics a couple of times, simply because it's been so long since he's listened to it, he cracks once and he imitates the ridiculous accent. He trails off during the last collections of 'la's, unsure of how many there are, and clears his throat.

“Bizarre,” she murmurs. Her head rests on her knees, her eyes soft as she looks at him. “You have a nice voice,” she adds.

He can't help his cheeks turning pink at that. He waves a hand. “I'm no singer,” he mumbles.

“I liked it,” she says, as if that's what's most important. And perhaps it is. He feels her head on his shoulder and he clenches his fist. It takes all of his willpower, as the stars come to life above them, not to rest his cheek against her hair.

* * *

The next day, he pops a painkiller and hauls himself into the pilot's seat. Allura is by his side, hand on the back of the chair.

“The most I could do was send a distress signal,” she says. “Without you, I couldn't even run diagnostics.”

He takes a deep breath and clutches the control sticks, flexing his fingers.

Black's response is lacklustre at best. She flickers weakly, but a screen pops up and he can check how she's doing.

“Five days,” Shiro says. “It'll take five days before she can even move.” He flops back into his seat and runs his hand down his face, feeling the prickle of his growing stubble.

“We've already been here seven,” Allura says. “Today is the eighth. We need to _leave_.”

He sighs. “Five days won't be enough. Full recovery will take...” He reaches forward, presses some buttons on the holographic interface. “...Ten days.”

She groans, pinches the bridge of her nose, mutters something in Altean and walks away. Shiro turns back to Black, reaches out with his consciousness to touch hers. She gives him what he supposes is the psychic, robotic equivalent of a feeble mewl. He tries to send reassuring thoughts to her, let her know he's there and she's not alone. She can't even rumble back at him.

He finds Allura in the main body of Black, fiddling with things, attempting to distract herself, he supposes.

“Hey, she's doing her best,” he says. Allura's head falls forward as she sighs.

“I know, it's just... We're stranded on this stupid planet with that... that _thing_ underneath us and I can't stop thinking about it and there's nothing out there and we're stuck and I'm losing my _mind_!”

“Whoa, whoa! Breathe!” He places his hands on her face, holding her still. “Breathe, Allura.”

She does. Slowly her breath goes from on the verge of panic to calmer, she presses her hands to his and while she's still shivering, she seems less like she's falling apart.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I... I must be strong.”

That's the opposite of what he wanted. “Allura, look at me.” She does, and her eyes betray how weak she feels. “You don't have to be strong all the time,” he says. “You're not made of stone.”

It's sudden, the way she falls against his chest, trembling. It sends a jolt of pain through the entirety of his torso, but he ignores it. It doesn't matter. He wraps his arms around her, a hand on her hair, and let's her shake, let's her break into pieces so she can put herself together again. She needs to know she can, and that he won't judge her. How could he, when he's always one step away from shattering himself.

Eventually she pulls back, takes a deep breath. Her eyes are red, but she never let out a single sob. “Thank you,” she says, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

“You don't need to thank me,” he replies. A lock of silvery hair falls over her face, and he can't resist it, it calls to him, beckons his fingers. He tucks it back, behind her ear, and her eyes widen slightly. His hand lingers, her fingers rise to brush his wrist, the back of his hand.

They move closer, so slow, cautious, tentative, like deer into the open.

The whole Lion shakes, and it's not because of Black herself. Shiro is knocked back against the wall, Allura falls against him. His head swims with the pain raging through his upper body, and he lets out a deep groan, breathing deep through his nose.

“W-what was that?” Allura asks, pulling away, eyes round with fear.

“I don't know,” he admits through clenched teeth.

Together they head to the side-hatch. The sea has splashed over, onto the floor of the Lion, and the waves are higher, stronger, though they're now settling. Allura bites her lip.

“I'm going to see what it was,” she says.

“Are you nuts?!” he protests. “You don't know what's down there!”

“I'll be fine,” she snaps, jamming her helmet on. “It's worse not knowing.”

She dives before he can stop her, and he's left to punch the side of the hatch, his nerve-endings still screaming.

He sits there, waiting, brooding, almost, tapping his forefingers together in his lap. It gets dark quickly, and he begins to worry in earnest. He's about to go for his own helmet and look for her, injuries be damned, when she pulls herself from the water and flops onto the floor, tearing off her helmet.

Her teeth are chattering, her eyes are wide, pouring with tears.

“What is it?” he asks, pulling her against him. She's rigid in his arms, trembling violently.

“The tentacle... it's moving,” she hisses.

That night is a sleepless one, and though nothing moves again, Shiro has never been more afraid in his life.

* * *

His eyes are gritty and his head dull from lack of sleep, but the idea of being asleep and vulnerable while the _thing_ in the abyss is moving makes him want to be sick.

“What woke it?” he wonders out loud. Allura shakes her head, but he knows she's thinking what he's thinking: prey more interesting than fish. Three minds – for surely Black counts as sentient – of higher intelligence than anything that might exist on the planet. It must be hungry. He shivers.

A little while later she stands, and heads to the cockpit. He follows, and nearly falls with the agony.

“Shiro!”

She's by his side in a moment, holding him gently, supporting him, concern brushing away the fear from her features.

“Have you taken a painkiller yet?” she asks. He shakes his head, his movements jerky, teeth gritted. “I'll get you one.”

She lowers him gingerly to the floor, rushes to what he's discovered is the supply cabinet, and hurries back.

“It's... it's the last one,” she says.

“Halve it,” he grunts.

“But-”

“S'fine,” he says, taking it from her and doing it himself.

It doesn't have quite the dulling effect of a full one, but it will get him from the hatch to the cockpit, and that's what's important. He collapses into the pilot's seat, his ribs still on fire, though the pain is lessening.

“Send out a generic distress signal,” she orders. “State who we are.”

Black's holographic screen flickers into life, and he does as he's told. He knows why, as well: he'd rather face a hundred Galra battle cruisers than what lies beneath them right now. He'd willingly go back to the Arena, even Haggar's experiments, than face... _that_.

The distress signal goes out. She sinks to the arm of his pilot's set, her arms wrapped round herself.  
It hurts him to see her like this, afraid, shaking, tired, knowing he can't do anything to stop it. He grips the other arm, bites his lip, his mind a whirlpool. He might never – _they_ might never have chance.

“Allura.”

He touches her arm. She turns, confused, and he cups her cheek. Her eyes, usually like starlight reflected, are dim, exhausted, fearful. She's still so beautiful, though, she'll always be beautiful to him.

As he leans up, she meets him halfway, their lips coming together. And while his gut twists with dread, his heart soars, his body sings. If they die, at least they'll have had this.

Her lips are cracked, but her tongue is warm, though the taste could be a lot better. Her arms go around his shoulders, his around her waist, and they hold each other, get lost in each other, pushing away the despair and horror in favour of this one pinprick moment of fire and perfection.

The beep of an incoming communication comes in, driving itself between the two of them. They tear apart and Shiro accepts the request. He could almost cry when he sees Hunk's face, and Allura actually does.

_“Shiro? Allura?”_ Hunk looks relieved. _“We actually found you!”_

Another screen comes up, and it's Lance. _“Bet you're glad to see us!”_ he says, wearing a cocky grin.

“You don't know much,” Shiro breathes, his voice shaking. Allura buries her face in the side of his neck, tears of relief streaming down his skin. Both Lance and Hunk seem taken aback by that.

_“Can Black move?”_ Hunk asks.

“No, she's still grounded,” Shiro says. “She's auto-repairing, but it won't be in time. How far are you?”

Allura's practically thrown in his lap when the whole Lion shakes again. It lasts longer this time, rattling the very marrow in their bones, and all they can do is hold each other until it stops.

_“What the_ hell _was that?”_ Hunk asks.

“Just... get us out of here,” Shiro says, and it comes out as more of a plea than an order.

_“We're coming to get you,”_ Lance says fiercely. _“We'll keep the communication open. We're_ not _leaving you alone.”_

Shiro nods, swallows. Right now, he feels incredibly guilty for ever thinking Lance was lesser than the others. He's such a good kid.

It's Allura who goes to shut the side-hatch. She comes back with her legs wet up to her knees.

“The waves are getting bigger,” she says, kneeling by the pilot's seat, her hand finding Shiro's. He squeezes her fingers gently.

“We're getting out of here,” he says. She nods.

It takes Hunk and Lance another hour and a half before they get there.

_“The cavalry's here!”_ Lance crows. In unison, the Blue and Yellow Lions skim beneath the water and heave Black onto their backs, slowly and carefully, keeping her as steady as they can. They rise, and though the going is snail-paced, they eventually leave the spit of land behind. Black's eyes face down, at the planet's surface they're leaving behind, and once they are high enough, both Shiro and Allura see it through the crystal-clear water.

It's immense, _colossal_ , greater than anything either of them has ever seen. Each eye must be the size of a city, dozens circling a gaping, black maw so huge it can barely be understood, a dark void, lined with spiked beaks like a nightmarish squid. The tentacle coils around the base of the island, the colour of a rotting corpse, inching its way upwards. The eyes see them, right through them, and _know_ them, strip them bare, digging at their minds.

It takes all of Shiro's willpower to tear his gaze away and prevent his mind from splintering. He lets out a sob, pitches himself away from Allura and throws up over the side of the seat. He hears her do the same behind him, retching violently.

_“The fuck, guys?”_ Lance asks, and his voice is like a crystal bell through fog. Shiro sighs with relief, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes streaming.

“It's fine,” Allura croaks, reaching shakily for Shiro's hand again. “We're fine.”

The planet is left behind. When they reach the Castle of Lions, Black is gently lowered to the floor of her hangar, the other Lions rumbling gently, comfortingly. Allura and Shiro stumble from the cockpit, his hand on her waist, almost thoughtlessly, and they find everyone waiting for them.

“Oh, thank the _stars_!”

Coran pulls Allura into the deepest, most relieved embrace Shiro has ever witnessed. She melts into it with a sigh of deep weariness. While Shiro watches with a smile, he's taken by surprise by an armful of green, Keith's hand on his shoulder, Lance's punch to his arm and Hunk's own, bone-crushing hug. His ribs don't like that at all, and he lets out a strangled cry of pain.

“Sorry!” Hunk says quickly, dropping him. Shiro is bent double, agony shooting through him, from his ribcage and searing up his spine.

“Healing pod!” Allura says, barging past his welcome party and easily propping him up. “Now!”

“You too,” he mutters. She scoffs.

“I'm _fine_ ,” she says, but before he goes under in his healing pod, he sees Coran practically forcing her into one, and he's relieved.

* * *

When he wakes up, he's drowsy, but there's no pain, which is a beautiful thing he didn't know he appreciated this much. He finds everyone there waiting for him, rather like they did for Lance.

“Morning,” he says, his tongue sloppy. His eyes find Allura first, relieved at how she seems better, stronger, not as tired. It seems strange to see her like this now, and he's about to open his mouth and say something when Pidge once again throws their arms around his middle, distracting him.

“You were asleep for days!” they complain. Shiro pats their head.

“There was a lot to fix,” he says. Keith gives him a warm smile, and Shiro ruffles his hair just to see him balk, a look of utter betrayal on his face. To everyone's surprise, especially, he surmises, the two involved, he pulls Lance and Hunk both into a hug.

“Thank you,” he says, pouring his entire soul into those two words. Hunk pats him warmly on the back, and Lance, of all things, blushes, rubbing his nose.

“No problem,” he mutters, looking away.

“I imagine you must be hungry!” Coran says, clapping his hands. “There's a fresh batch of goo waiting just for you! Oh, it rhymed!”

They begin to make their way to the door, but Shiro hangs back, as does Allura. She meets his eyes, looks away again, her cheeks colouring.

“Shiro?” Pidge asks, cocking their head to the side.

“You guys go on ahead,” he says.

“But-” Keith starts, but Lance rolls his eyes and practically drags him after them. Shiro knows better than to assume he and Allura are completely alone, but he finds he doesn't care. After what happened on that planet, a clandestine romance being not-so-clandestine at all doesn't faze him in the slightest.

“Listen, about...” He falters. What to even _say_?

“Was it just the heat of the moment?” she asks, her voice surprisingly small. She's allowing him to see the young woman beneath the princess, and the privilege is almost painful in its delicacy. She's also, he realises, allowing him a way out. _If it was just a mistake, we can pretend it never happened._ He shakes his head fiercely. This could never be a mistake.

“No. No, I... I've been wanting to kiss you for... I can't even remember how long.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, steps closer, and he can feel her warmth, though they aren't touching yet. Her hands go to his chest, his go, almost of their own volition, around her waist, they seem to fit there. Her eyes are starlight again, and they appear to be twinkling. She's absolutely captivating.

“Then do it again,” she says, practically an order. Disobedience, he decides, could never be worth it.

It's so different from the desperation and terror of the first time, and he relishes it. Her lips are insistent, hungry, dominant, she's the first to deepen it. He surrenders more than willingly, pulling her closer, until she's pressed against him. He chuckles against her lips when he hears a wolf-whistle, and he just _knows_ that's Lance.

“Ew, get a _room_!” Pidge yells. 

They finally pull apart, Allura's head lowering as she stifles her giggles, and he hides a grin in her hair.

* * *

It's much later, and Shiro's never been more grateful for his own bed, his own sheets, his own mattress, his own ceiling to stare at. There's no sound of lapping water, no eerie silence now the castleship's engine hums quietly many floors below. Beside him, curled against his side, is Allura, and by her breathing he can tell she's awake.

“I'm glad we're alive,” she murmurs, running a hand across his chest. He can feel her warmth through the soft cloth of his shirt. His arm around her shoulders tightens ever-so-slightly.

“So am I,” he says.


End file.
